


Targets, Friends and Enemies

by TerryJune



Series: Mission Briefs [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy story, But kind of, Field Exercise, First Story in A Series, Not Really Philinda, Pre-Series, Prove Your Worth, but not so cute, meet cute, stuck together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 11:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18939598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerryJune/pseuds/TerryJune
Summary: Daisy leaned forward, chin in her palm, "So...what was it, the weekend you guys met? What happened?""I kicked May's ass.""Coulson cheated."They answered with simultaneous conviction, lowering their mugs, May glaring and Coulson grinning back.Coulson & May met during an Academy exercise and how that first interaction lay the foundation for their future loyalties to one another.Cross Posted: First Story in a Series





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this as laying the foundation for future works that will dive into each pre-series mission that is mentioned on the show. I wanted to include this because it establishes some important dynamics for why they began working together in their first mission to Sausalito.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

"So you actually punched May in the face?" Skye smiled, looking between the two senior agents, "Did it feel weird? I bet it was weird."

Coulson shrugged, "I knew it wasn't her."

"Because she doesn't like coffee?" Skye leaned on the kitchen table, "That's a crazy tidbit to gamble on, I saw her, she looked  _just_  like you."

May crossed her arms, but Skye wasn't deterred, "I still can't believe they made a nano-mask that good. I mean, Coulson, can you imagine if you were  _wrong_  and you  _actually_ punched May in the face?"

"I wasn't worried." He rested against the counter, blowing steam off his mug.

Skye looked over him, "You're so confident. I don't think I could ever be that confident with a look-a-like that good."

"You also haven't known me for almost 3 decades." May shrugged, moving past Coulson to pick up the mug of tea he left next to the sink.

"Wait..." Skye's brow furrowed, "3 decades, that would put you, what? As teenagers?!"

Coulson smirked a pleased little grin, "Thank you for that, but no, a little older. We met at the Academy."

Blinking, Skye straightened, "I don't think I realized you guys have known each other since then."

"We didn't really." May hedged, "One weekend in our second year was the only time we interacted prior to graduation."

"Because the three divisions don't spend much time together." Skye filled in, recalling the visit to campus the previous year. "And you were Operations and Coulson was... Communications?"

"He certainly wasn't Ops." May murmured into her tea.

"I could have been." He made a face at her. "But I didn't want to. No academy was better than any of the others."

May arched an eyebrow in silent, but pointed, disagreement.

Skye smiled, the lighthearted dynamic a balm over the stress of the recent months. She leaned forward, chin in her palm, "So...what was it, the weekend you guys met? What happened?"

"I kicked May's ass."

"Coulson cheated."

They answered with simultaneous conviction, lowering their mugs, May glaring and Coulson grinning back.

* * *

"Now remember, the Communications cadets you'll be tracking think that this is just a typical solo survival retreat, they have no idea that they are being targeted."

Melinda leaned back in her chair in order to make eye contact with McCarthy. The other cadet smiled back; for once this was going to be a fun assignment.

"Your challenge is to detain and extract as many comm cadets as possible." The professor continued, a matrix of young faces, their targets, appearing on the monitor behind him.

Scanning their features, nothing stood out to Melinda. A few of the dozen were exactly what one might expect, soft chins, glasses, smiles, but there were a few who had stared steadily into the camera, projecting pride and resolve. One in particular had broad shoulders, square jaw and small scar above his eye. Melinda memorized the face deciding that he would likely be the closest to an actual challenge in the field; she was looking forward to it.

Professor Gordon flicked the screen to a map of the woods south of campus, "Remember, all your targets need to do for a pass is to make it to their rendezvous location so you will need to operate quietly; if spooked they'll all run for the bunker, severely limiting the number of cadets you'll be able to detain."

He nodded to his assistant, "You are currently receiving your primary target. You need to detain this one in order for any of your others to count. These are assigned on grade rank to ensure the most efficient of you," He eyed Melinda and Cadet Taylor behind her, "Have at least a semblance of a challenge and leave some targets for the rest of the class."

May accepted the paper handed to her and frowned. She was top in the class and expected to be matched with the square jawed cadet but instead the face looking back at her was one she hardly even remembered from the board. Soft eyes, receding hair, and a contained smirk.

"Sir," She stepped to the professor as the rest of the cadets filed out of the briefing room, "I think there's been a mistake with my primary target."

Gordon looked at the paper in her hand, "Phillip Coulson; that's right. First in the class." He shrugged, "What can I say Cadet, communications requires a different skill set than operations. Maybe he's really good at codebreaking. It's not a perfect system. I wouldn't complain; it'll be an easy down and then you can move on to stealing targets from the rest of your classmates."

She nodded in acceptance despite the lingering disappointment.

"And Cadet May," Gordon pulled her attention once more, "Don't forget, while they are targets today they will be teammates and probably team leaders in the future. Try not to hurt anyone."

Restraining the impulse to roll her eyes until Professor Gordon had turned his back, she grimaced at Taylor who was burning his target assignment over the trash barrel.

"Team leaders." He repeated the professor with a snort, "If you ask me, it's bull that most team leaders come out of Communications while strike team operatives and specialists are the ones putting their blood and bones on the line."

She tightened her lips, "I don't think it's necessary to burn your assignment."

He smiled, "Maybe not, but it's fun." He looked down at the burning visage, "Y'know." He straightened, "You and I could team up, probably have the lot of them rounded up in a few hours then have the weekend free." He leaned over her, eyes dark.

Her jaw tightened and she glared back, the last thing she wanted was to spend any more time than necessary with Jeremy Taylor. "I'm aiming to be a specialist; I don't  _do_  teaming up."

"Maybe I'm trying to be a team leader." His lips turned up in to a grin as he saddled closer.

His eyebrow popped and she crossed her arms, not retreating.

Huffing, Taylor stepped back, "Whatever, these soft puffs don't know what's about to hit them."


	2. Chapter 2

May breathed deep, appreciating the scent of the mid-spring forest. She was grateful to be out of that van. Grateful to be alone. She enjoyed most of her classmates when it came to sparring or working out strategic challenges, but when there was nothing to occupy them the constant, testosterone driven competitions drove her crazy.

She was lucky to be in a cadet class that included two other women. She knew that was frequently not the case and while she harbored no desire to craft bff bracelets, it was nice having a couple of fellow cadets who weren't solely focused on proving how tough they were.

Unfortunately, the tight packed van in which she had been waiting for the timer to start had held neither McCarthy nor Park and after waiting out the 4 hour head start, May had practically leapt from the van, dashing into the woods in search of a convenient vantage point.

It turned out, such a strategic tact had been unnecessary as it was practically by accident that she encountered her target.

She had been surveying which trees were most climbable when muttered cursing a few dozen meters to her left pulled her attention.

Dropping low and eyeing the natural shadows, she crept through the brush, barely able to contain her snort when she laid eyes on the young man she was supposed to be hunting.

The first thing that struck her was that he was in a suit. An actual suit and tie, complete with leather oxford shoes which slipped against the moss as he struggled to pull together the side of a lean-to shelter. He was impossibly skinny, the starched collar wilting around his neck, sweat beading at his temples despite the cool air. A large tactical backpack was haphazardly tossed to the side, books poking out from the top pocket.

She checked her watch, the communications students had been in the woods for nearly 5 hours. This guy had barely gone past the forest edge and there was little evidence of any attempt to make camp; no fire pit, no water, no food security and a half-completed shelter.

Make that no shelter. She smirked as he lost his grip on the rope and the barrier he had been trying to leverage into place fell to pieces. The poor guy would probably beg to be taken in. She'd be doing him a favor.

Seeing no indication of anyone else in the area and certain he had no weapons on himself, she decided to do this directly, clean and simple. Standing, she approached the other cadet.

He reacted before she had anticipated.

"Oh," He smiled at her, "That was fast."

She blinked, his reaction unexpected, what did he think she was…

Undeterred by her non-response he kept smiling, as if they were old friends running into one another at the park, "Hi! Phil Coulson. I'm a second year in the Shield Academy: Communications Division."

He looked around the non-campsite, "I don't have anything to offer at the moment. If you give me a little more time I could get a place for you to sit, maybe start a fire."

She shook her head, dusting off the bizarre welcome, "How about not. How about we go back to campus instead." She gestured over her shoulder, "There's a comfortable staff van just over that ridge."

His eyes tracked her face with an intensity which had her contemplating taking a step back.

The smile popped up again, "So this is it?"

Uncomfortable and tired of his weirdness, May ground her teeth and pulled up her mother's words, 'Less talk; more act.'

With determined movements she closed the distance between them, ready to twist an arm and drag her first target out of the woods.

Instead, she hardly had time to react when he stepped forward, meeting her halfway and pressing a palm to her neck.

A shock ran through her, she stiffened unwillingly, eyes wide, limbs uncooperative and, in an instant, feeling terror.

"It's okay." He whispered, guiding her to the ground with care, "You'll be fine in a few seconds…" He made quick work of removing her tool belt and pulling the tac knife from her boot before rolling her a few feet to the side until she found herself in a concealed net, and being lowered in to a deep hole.

True to his word, sensation was already returning to her hands and her muscles relaxed. But it was too late, she was in some kind of underground cage. Wooden bars divided the hole, separating her from a ladder that her target, turned captor now descended.

He faced her through the bars, "You okay? I know it doesn't hurt much, but it can be a bit of a shock."

"What the hell was that?!" She demanded through clenched teeth, rubbing the spot where he had touched her.

If anything, his grin only grew and he held up a small leather and metal device, "An SSR Immobilizer. It's authentic, from 1968!" He looked at the device fondly, "You like it?"

"What is wrong with you?!" She grabbed at the bars, testing them, "What are you doing?!"

He put the immobilizer in his pocket, shoulders softening. "I'm sorry. Here," He pulled open the tactical bag she had seen, "There is a blanket and a bedroll, a couple thermoses of water, some candy and a couple of sandwiches and I don't know what you'd like to do to pass the time but I have crosswords, comics, and a Strategic Principals textbook; I assume you're second year also?"

She looked at the bounty of food and time wasters he laid out within reach. "You knew I was coming?"

"Not you, specifically." He shrugged, opening a bag of twizzlers, and leaning against the ladder, "But I figured something."

She narrowed her eyes, trying to process the rapidly evolved situation and get a new read on the man who had so casually and effectively incapacitated her.

There was nothing she could glean from looking at him; he wore same half smirk from his Academy headshot, his eyes mirthful, practically exuding niceness.

She took a breath and looked around her cell. The mud walls were easily 7 feet high, too slippery to climb. A woven wooden roof secured the top, concealed again with the net and leaves. Her space between the wall and wooden bars was just large enough for her to lie down, the space on the other side was slightly smaller. A lantern was nailed into the wall with a reflector spreading the light.

This had taken time; more time than he supposedly had.

She looked back to him, there was dirt around his fingernails she hadn't previously registered, but there was none on his white shirt or freckled skin. He hadn't dug this prison today.

"You cheated." She gaped, somehow having difficulty reconciling that obvious truth with the honest face peering back at her.

He straightened, defiant, "I did not."

She gestured to the cage as if to say it spoke for itself.

He shrugged, "They said this weekend was a survival retreat; no one ever said not to go into the archives to find out how others did on past retreats."

"And the archives explained how it's a war game with the Operations division?" She stared at him.

The smile dropped from his face and he stared back at her, "Wargame…? No…" He stood from the ladder, pacing in his small space, "No…it just had everyone listed with times next to their names. Really short times." He looked back up at her, "I know we aren't as tough as Ops but I would think most would be able to make it alone in the woods for more than a day." He tilted his head, "So I figured there had to be more to it; something that was meant to flush us out before Monday."

He backed up against the wall, eyes tight, "It's a wargame?" He looked to her in askance, "What's the game?"

She sighed, he might have the upper hand, but she was not about to tell him everything. Keeping her lips closed might be her only shot at not absolutely failing this weekend.

He narrowed his eyes, looking her over and then glancing to the tool belt he had removed from her, the nylon wrist restraints bunched to one side. "You're hunting us…" He looked back up, eyes moving across her face, "Just you? No…" He answered as soon as he asked the question, "There are more."

He glanced up, checking the coverage over the secret dugout.

She sighed, failing was bad, loosing sucked, but what would be worse would be spending all weekend trapped in this nightmare. "Look…Phillip…"

"Phil." He corrected automatically, "But everyone here calls me Coulson."

"Coulson…" She tried again, "We don't need to hide here all weekend. All you need to do for a passing grade is make it back to the bunker without getting nabbed by one of my classmates." She crossed her arms and leaned back, "You could head out now, make last call at Dougherty's and still receive top marks on the weekend."

"We just need to make it back to the bunker?" He repeated before looking up and locking eye contact, "Don't need to do anything else? No fighting Ops kids? No collecting POWs or anything like that?"

"You already have one." She grumbled, "But no. You don't need to do anything but escape. Just please leave me the means to break myself out of here so I can sleep in my own bed tonight too."

She watched his jaw tense as he fixated on the floor, gaze unfocused. "Hey! Coulson!" She tried shaking the bars, "You hear what I said? We can both go home. What's there to think about?"

When he looked back up she had to blink at the regret emanating from him, "I thought it was a competition amongst ourselves."

She frowned, not following.

"I didn't tell anyone else." He continued, "They don't know. There are 11 cadets out there who don't know they're being hunted."

His lips disappeared into a hard line and his slate eyes were devoid of humor. He nodded to himself, before kneeling and digging through his backpack, transferring a few items to his pockets.

"Alright," He stood addressing her, "Look, I'm sorry to leave you like this but seriously, enjoy all the food and books."

"Wait, what?" She felt her eyes go round and her hands fisted, "You're leaving me here?"

"Just for a little bit." He held up placating hands, "I'm just going to go warn the others. Once I let them all know I'll come right back and make sure you can get out of there okay?"

She opened her mouth to emphatically insist that NO this was NOT okay but he was smiling again, holding her tactical belt, "Mind if I borrow this?" Without waiting for an answer he slung it over his shoulder and climbed out of the hole, pulling the ladder up after himself. "Don't worry, I'll be back!"

Melinda May was left staring at the roof of her prison and silently cursing Phil Coulson.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The parameter for the challenge was a 10 square mile tract of forest so Melinda didn't expect her captor's foolhardy mission to be quick, but she  _had_  hoped he'd realize its futility before the night progressed much further.

She spent the first 3 hours after he left trying to facilitate her escape. Unfortunately, while the pit was crude, it was also effective and she had nothing to show for her efforts.

It was with no small amount of self-derision that she decided to take a break and evaluate the supplies he had left. The textbook was well worn and the crossword book had half the puzzles completed. She rolled her eyes at the stack of comic books; old school Captain America. A collection of car catalogues was at the bottom of the pile, thick with dogeared pages.

Who the hell was this kid?

Deciding to make the best of it, she flopped on to the bedroll grabbing one of the wrapped sandwiches and the textbook. Strategic Principals II was one of the few classes both Ops and Comms students took their second year; at least she could study for the final.

Taking a bite of the surprisingly flavorful grilled cheese, she opened the book and groaned. Of course this guy was the kind of person who wrote in his books. Underlines and doodles and questions and revisions…some surprisingly insightful questions and startlingly cutthroat suggestions…

It wasn't long before she found herself going back to the beginning of the book and flipping through the chapters she'd already covered in order to read the notes scribbled in the white space around the text.

She was scoffing at a particular inane reinterpretation of a hostage extraction when footsteps approached. She put down the book and stared at the rim of her cell in silence.

For a moment she considered shouting, that perhaps it was one of her classmates who could let her out. She dismissed the thought almost as soon as it crossed her mind; this was a competition, not one of her classmates, not even McCarthy would help her out. The best she could hope for was to lay low and avoid the inevitable mocking.

She wasn't sure if she was relieved or not when the ladder reappeared, Phil Coulson descending a moment later.

She jumped up from her seated position when he turned to look at her, an honest, "You okay?" As his greeting.

"Am  _I_  okay?" She put her hands on her hips, "Do you have any idea what you look like?"

"Can guess." He winced.

His well pressed suit was filthy, wet and covered in mud. Though, she noted with amusement, his shirt remained tucked and his tie still in place. A gash stretched from his eyebrow to above his temple, coating half his face in a not insubstantial amount of blood. He appeared to be limping and he moved with a slight hunch, one arm held tight to his torso.

"What happened?" May scoffed.

Reopening his bag with slow movements, Coulson pulled out a med kit, "Your friend Taylor is an ass."

Jeremy Taylor. She clenched her molars, of course that pompous prick would not have appreciated his prey being warned off by some dweeb in a suit.

"He's not my friend." She replied simply.

Phil looked up at the pronouncement, as if it actually mattered to him whom she counted as her friends.

The strange little smile came back, faltering and not quite matching his eyes. "Good, because I pissed him off pretty bad when I tipped off Patel."

"Apparently." She watched with interest as he removed his shoe and wrapped his ankle. "You get any good hits in yourself?"

For some reason the image of Taylor getting clocked by the little man in front of her provided great amusement.

Coulson snorted the reality, "The guy is a monster, he has like 6 inches on me."

She rolled her eyes, watching as he pulled off his tie and shook out of his shirt revealing dark bruises forming over his ribs.

Despite his visible grimace she couldn't help herself, snorting, "You really are as scrawny as you look."

"Look who's talking, pipsqueak." He shot back without hesitation.

She raised her eyebrows; seems she hit a nerve, "At least  _I'm_ able to knock Taylor on his ass."

Halting, Coulson tilted his head, looking her over, "Yeah?"

"Do it all the time." She shrugged, leaning into her confidence.

Wincing as he pressed at a particularly nasty bruise he averted his eyes, "Suppose they teach you that stuff in Operations."

"I thought Comms had hand to hand classes too." She tilted her head, "Or is that only if you want to be a field agent as opposed to an analyst?"

"First of all…" He looked back up, "I fully intend on becoming a field agent." He shifted again, "But I've only taken two semesters of boxing. Not much help when a giant is stomping on your chest."

Anger drifted across May's thoughts. There hadn't been some light tussle; Taylor had genuinely tried to hurt this guy. Not for the first time she questioned the worth of inciting division between the Shield Academies when in 3 short years everyone was supposed to end up on the same team.

"You should try Professor Wen's mixed martial arts." She found herself advising, "Learn to do more than just punch and block while standing up."

"I'm also quite adept at running away." He tossed back with a tone and grin incongruous to his current state.

"Great skill." She rolled her eyes, "Really looks effective."

Pulling out another ace bandage he shrugged, "I went to 6 high schools in 4 years; this is not the first time I've gotten my ass kicked."

May found she had nothing to say to that admission so instead she watched the series of winces play across his face as he struggled to wrap the bandage around himself.

"You know, if you let me out of here I could help you with that." She offered, eyebrow cocked.

He snorted, "I may be scrawny and not much good in a fight but I'm not an idiot."

"No?" She taunted, eyeing the completely ineffective rib wrap he was struggling with.

"I'm pretty sure trusting you would make me an idiot." The smirk returned.

Her first response was a desire to kick that smirk off his face, but close behind was an inexplicable desire for him  _to_  trust her. She frowned, in the Specialist program they taught that trust was a tool, a weapon. Not something to be given or taken comfort in. And she had every intention of escaping at the first available window.

But for some reason, she felt pained when he called her out on it and felt a clawing need to prove him wrong.

Schooling her expression into nothing more than taught disapproval, she gestured for him to come closer to the bars as she reached out her arms, "Fine. Don't let me out. But I can still do a better job than you're doing for yourself."

Cautious eyes focused on her before he relented; a short nod and he stepped up to the bars, raising his arms and giving her access to the wrap.

Her hands were steady, careful not to push too hard on the bruising but keeping it tight enough that it would actually support his damaged ribs.

"So…" She found herself wanting to fill the silence to remove some of the strangeness of the situation, "You moved around a lot. Military family?"

He shook his head, "No. My Dad died when I was a kid. It was hard for Mom."

"Oh." She refrained from the reflexive apology, the shortness of his reply silencing any follow up.

He tried to cover a hiss as she cinched the wrap tight, "How about you?"

"My Mom worked for the government." She gave the canned response, "But I lived with my Dad when they divorced so life was pretty stable by the time I was in high school."

"Ah." He nodded, stepping back and looking down at his now wrapped torso, "Thank you, this is much better."

"Told you so." She couldn't help but snark. Looking down she gestured to his ankle, "How about that?"

He followed her gesture, waving off the concern, "It'll hold up fine."

"Taylor do that too?" She questioned, mentally listing the things she'd be doing to the other cadet next time they were in the gym.

Instead of the expected affirmation, a blush rose up his pale skin, "Uh... I fell."

"You fell." She repeated, "When you were running from Taylor?"

He sighed, "No…" Looking back to her she could see he knew exactly how ridiculous it was, "Turns out dress shoes are not great for hopping across streams."

Rolling her lip inward she couldn't keep her shoulders from shaking with laughter, "With insights like that I see why you didn't make it into Sci Tech."

"I still managed to outsmart you, didn't I?" He smirked, pulling on a dry t-shirt.

"Cheated." She retorted.

"Resourceful." He corrected, smiling again.

Sighing she sat back on the bedroll, "Seriously though, even you had to have known a suit isn't ideal camping apparel." She crossed her legs, "Did they send all of you out here dressed for the office?"

He shook his head, wiping the blood off his cheek, "I just figured that if this was to simulate a real mission that I'd likely be in a suit."

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, "And how realistic is it having a prepared secret bunker with a cage?"

"Hey…" He held up his hands, "It's also likely that in the case of an operation I would have some context as to the situation." He shrugged, "Besides, haven't you heard of a safe-house?"

"Seems to me you're just trying to justify your cheating." She narrowed her eyes.

"Maybe." Locking eyes, "But I didn't cheat." After a beat he smiled.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help but give a small smile of her own. This kid certainly wasn't Ops material but he was unlike any other Communications Cadet she had met.

She frowned as he groaned, forcing his swollen ankle back into his shoe, "You're going back out?"

"Yeah, 4 more to go." He grimaced, "Idara is probably okay but I still want to make sure she knows. Then there is Greg, Nat and Habib;" He listed off as he stood, testing his weight on the injured ankle, "That is if Greg didn't already run home because he saw a snake or something ridiculous."

"Coulson." She put her hands on her hips, "Why don't you just call it a night?"

He stared at her, brows knitted as if he were trying to puzzle out her plan.

She sighed, "There are 11 of my classmates out there. Taylor is a jerk but most of the rest really aren't much better when it comes to competition. You can't hold your own against them."

"Nor do I want to." He corrected, "I have no intention of running into any of your fellow cadets. I just want to tell the rest of my classmates what game they're in the middle of; give them half a chance."

May bit her lip, from one moment to the next she couldn't tell if this guy was a genius or an idiot. Most evidence was pointing to the latter. "That is  _assuming_  your classmates are still in the game and haven't already been detained. This isn't supposed to be a team project; it's an individual test."

She leaned forward, "There is no way for you to ensure you won't be running into Ops people again. They are all planning on being in the woods until every last Coms Cadet is detained or escaped. With less cadets for them to hunt the more focus will be turned on finding you and when they do, they are going to be pissed."

He stood irritatingly still, the ghost of a smirk on his face. He raised a shoulder and bounced an eyebrow, "Then I guess I better hope they don't find me."


	4. Chapter 4

May rubbed at her eyes, the need for sleep clawing at her but she couldn't, not here, not alone. She wasn't sure how long it had been since she had last seen the strange young man who was her captor. All she knew was that it had been dark when she helped patch his ribs, the sun had risen, the day had progressed, and now it was getting dark again.

She had long since ceased being interested in the text book. When no crossword held her attention she had even flicked through the stupid comic books, rolling her eyes at the Steve Roger's origin story of a skinny kid with a heart of gold who kept getting back up. She wondered how much of it was real. She of course knew of Captain America's heroics during the war but didn't know much about who he was prior to the super soldier treatments. She suspected the comic book version was apocryphal; it was a nice story for kids but, in her experience, heroes like that weren't real.

Even if some scrawny punk wanted to try and act like it.

As the winds picked up she wondered, not for the first time, if Coulson had been caught or injured and had been unable to tell anyone she was here, stuck in this stupid makeshift prison. Maybe he just forgot about her, or leaving her here was some kind of demented plot. Maybe this was actually a whole different kind of test. There never was any wargame, Coulson wasn't a Cadet, but rather an operative specially tasked with evaluating her reactions to the situation.

She banged her head back against the wooden stakes of her cage.

When the weekend started the worst thing she feared was failing. Now she was starting to think that was an overly optimistic possibility.

A few minutes after the rain started, further convincing her she was cursed, footsteps returned above the pit. This time she didn't care what anyone thought. "HELLO! HELLO! CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

"Of course I can." Phil's face appeared above her, pulling back the camouflaged netting.

He was obscured in shadow but she was almost certain there was at least one new bruise marring his features.

"Time to go." He threw something down.

Bending over she picked up what she realized were a pair of her nylon wrist restraints. "You have  _got_  to be kidding me. No way!"

Above her, Coulson shrugged, "Fine. I was  _thinking_  it would be cruel to leave you out here in the approaching storm but if you'd rather stay…."

Suppressing a shiver she cut him off, "Okay, Okay. But I'm putting them on in front."

"Whatever." He disappeared for a moment, reappearing with the ladder, lowering it next to her.

Even with her bound hands, May wasted no time scrambling out of the pit. Facing Coulson, she waited.

"Okay then." He smiled at her, "Let's go."

He headed out parallel to the tree line, away from where the Ops van was waiting. "Where are we going?"

"The bunker." He pointed ahead.

She felt her eyebrows arch, "You're tapping out? What about the rest of the Comms kids?"

"Dunno." He shrugged, "I talked to all of them, gave them all a chance to a fair game. All I could do."

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she was able to see him more clearly, his right eye nearly swollen shut.

"You run into Taylor again?" She pointed to his eye.

He cleared his throat, looking to her with a grimace, "I fell out of a tree."

"You…?" She closed her eyes, exhaling, "You're pretty bad at this, you know? Who needs an enemy when you can do a number on yourself without any help?"

The only response she received was a quiet huff and sideways glare.

She watched him walking for a few paces, letting him get a step ahead. The limp from his sprained ankle was worse than before. He was hunched, favoring his left. Even with her hands bound it should be no issue to overtake him; she wouldn't even need to hurt him.

He stumbled and she moved quickly to help steady him.

"Yep." He muttered, "Oxfords are not good shoes in the mud."

She rolled her eyes, "It took this experience for you to realize that?"

He sighed, coming to a halt and closing his eyes, visibly bracing himself.

"Coulson…Phil…" Situating herself on the edge of his personal space, she lowered her voice and pushed back her shoulders, accentuating her curves, "I think I've put up with being shocked and held prisoner pretty well."

He open his eyes, blinking at her proximity. His adams apple bobbled as he struggled to pull his eyes up to her face, swallowing before admitting, "I am quite grateful that it was you I found first and not some of the others."

She smiled. Perfect. She leaned in a little more, "Well… Seeing as we are ultimately on the same side, maybe I'm owed a favor?"

"Uhhhh…" He swallowed again, eyes darting in a dozen directions before locking to hers, "Yeah…okay, what?"

"Hear me out. Why don't you let me bring you in?" She did her best sultry smile, "You did your hero thing, reaching out to everyone on your team. Very impressive." She bit her lip as she watched his pupils dilate, "But it's still a long walk to the bunker and the rest of the Ops Cadets are still out there, hunting you. The Ops Van is much closer. I can get you there safely without some painful trek to the other side of the woods."

He tilted his head, breathing slow, "So you want me to release your restraints and follow you to the van instead of continuing to the bunker?"

"Yeah." She nodded, closer still, "What do you say?"

His face crumpled in amusement, grin widening, eyes dancing, "What makes you think I would accept that deal? Because you played nurse maid and are extremely hot?" He snorted, "No way. I busted my ass and kicked yours; I'm claiming my victory." He looked at her, "And don't you once think I'm underestimating you. Pull a move during this walk and I'll shock you all over again, only this time I'll leave you in the rain."

Her eyebrows arched up her forehead and her jaw dropped.

The smile had never left Coulson's face and he dropped right back into his jabber, "But really, it's too bad, I like these shoes. I wonder if they have dress shoes that have better soles. You know in the 1950s the SSR had shoes with all kinds of features; secret compartments, transmitters, even a camera…"

She let him drone on, not really listening but fascinated none the less. She could not get a read on this guy; she had been certain she would be able to manipulate him. She had  _not_ been prepared for the preservation of his self-interest and subsequent dismissal.

He had even brandished that damn immobilizer and promised he was not underestimating her. In a way she appreciated the respect, but she also knew he wasn't fully aware of her capabilities. Now that she knew what the gadget was she wouldn't be caught unawares again.

As they trudged along she found herself wondering about the preservation of her own self-interest and how much she really cared about a stupid letter grade. Each time she considered making her move she found some reason to talk herself out of it. Before long they were nearly to his destination and the window of opportunity to take him down was closing.

She was so focused on working out her conflicting thoughts that she almost didn't hear the thud of two tactical boots dismounting from a perch. She looked up in time to instinctively step in front of Coulson before Taylor stepped out of the shadow of the trees.

"I'm glad  _someone_  finally nabbed this gu…" Taylor started, voice boisterous, until his eyes darted down, taking in the restraints on May's wrists. "Are you  _kidding_  me? What the hell May?" He scoffed, "Whatever scam you're running, you're heading the wrong direction, the van is back there."

"No scam." Coulson elbowed around May, "I captured her and now I'm bringing her with me back to the bunker."

Taylor threw his head back and laughed, "Buddy, you might be a pencil neck but you don't seem to know much; You're not bringing anyone anywhere. If she's following you it's not because of something  _you_ did or threatened to do."

He stepped to May, bending his neck down to look at her face, "I'm just trying to figure out what  _you're_  up to." He smirked, muscles taught and flexing under his tight black t-shirt, "Unless you like being tied up…"

"Wow." Coulson snorted. Taylor looked back to the shorter man who was making an exaggerated point of rolling his eyes, "Cue the over the top villain dialogue. You sure you didn't mistake this for a Hydra academy?"

Taylor's eyes darkened and in a second his hand was around Coulson's neck, pinning him to a tree. "Who the  _hell_  are you calling Hydra you  _parasitic welch?_  When Red Skull was stoking the Nazi flame who do you think it was who stomped them out? Sniveling little analysts sitting behind their desks playing with toys?  _No_. It was warriors like Bucky Barnes and the first Howling Commandos who stormed fortresses and stomped on the necks of the enemy."

Coulson's face was getting red and he writhed under the hand at his throat.

Taylor smirked, "Look at you. What the hell were you playing at all day? Getting in the way, tipping off everyone else and yet now, at the end of it all, here you are, alone and you're not squirming away from me this time. The only question is who is going to be bringing you in, me or Cadet  _Rice_  here…"

"He's my target." May spoke quietly, through clenched teeth.

"What?" Taylor turned to her.

Instead of repeating herself she spun into a forward roundoff, kicking Taylor's arm and freeing Coulson to drop to the ground. Taking advantage of Taylor's surprise and disrupted balance, she launched herself, grabbing an overhead branch and locking her thighs around his neck, pressing and twisting until his eyes rolled back in his head and his knees buckled.

Dropping from the branch she cracked her wrists, bending her double joints out of the nylon restraints and using them to secure Taylor's hands behind his back.

"I said…he is  _my_  target." She whispered in the ear of the unconscious cadet before straightening and holding a hand out to Coulson who had remained crumpled at the base of the tree. "You okay?"

He blinked up at her for a dumbstruck moment before accepting her hand and pulling himself back up. Looking down at Taylor's inert form, his shoulders stooped. "Okay…" He exhaled his concession.

"What?" May's brow tightened, not certain why being rescued from a death grip had rendered the man in front of her cheerless.

When he pulled his eyes up to meet hers they were despondent. "I figured there was a chance that you could still do something with your hands tied, I just didn't realize how much of a joke it was." He looked down again, "You've been playing with me the whole time and it's okay, I get it and I appreciate you preventing him from killing me, but I'm done now. I'm tired, no more games. Just take me where you need to go and let's have this whole thing be over with before any of the rest of your classmates show up."

Melinda frowned. "You're giving up?"

"It's not giving up if I've already lost." His eyes looked back at her with steady earnesty. He tilted his head to the side and the corner of his lips ticked up, a hint of that damned smirk, "You're a good person; I'm glad you'll get the only point for Operations."

"The only point?" She repeated, "I thought you weren't sure everyone else got out."

He shrugged, "I may have undersold it. They got out."

She bit her lip. This guy stunned her, tossed her in a pit and held her captive for 30 hours. He was annoying and awkward and naïve. And he was her ticket to the only passing grade in the class. After sitting alone with his stupid comic books she deserved it.

But she couldn't bring herself to move. He'd had the opportunity to be one of the only, if not the only one of his class to make it out of the weekend with a passing grade. He had seen past the presented assignment and prepared for the actual objective. Instead of accepting the first opportunity for victory he had gone off to warn the others; went back out even after getting his ribs kicked in.

This wasn't even supposed to be a team exercise.

Right?

The cut on his head had reopened, blood matting his short hair. She sighed. "Can you make it to the bunker on your own?"

He frowned, "What?"

She crossed her arms, "You look like you're about to fall over at any minute. I have no desire to carry your ass all the way back to our relay point. Your bunker is closer."

"I can walk…" He straightened, "I'm saying you can take me in; I won't resist."

"And  _I'm_  saying I. Don't. Want. To." She re-did her ponytail while she spoke, trying to project as much indifference and annoyance as possible, "So why don't you take your scrawny self back home and I can go back to pretending I never met you."

He blinked three times, jaw shifting as he worked out what she was saying. A slow smile grew until he was beaming, his eyes light. "If you insist."

"Trust me. I do." She drawled.

He nodded, one last look at Taylor, "Professor Wen's mixed martial arts class?"

"How about you try for a push up first." She snarked.

His grin just grew. "Okay then. See you around, Cadet." With a final bounce of his eyes, he turned and limped the rest of the way to the edge of the forest.

May stood back, watching as he crossed the field to the Academy bunker.

Taylor may have been right that it didn't always make sense who S.H.I.E.L.D. put in charge of teams but if in the future she had to end up working under someone from the communications division she supposed she could do worse than someone like Phil Coulson.


End file.
